


Homeward

by tofty



Category: Venetia - Georgette Heyer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-18
Updated: 2013-08-18
Packaged: 2017-12-23 21:01:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/931050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tofty/pseuds/tofty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happened after. But not <i>long</i> after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Homeward

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bow/gifts).



She woke, smiling, from a dream of Yorkshire, caught in a storm with Flurry, both of them soaked to the skin. It was such a familiar scene, something that had happened so many times, that for a moment she knew herself to be in Undershaw, and felt some disappointment at the dawning realisation that she was not.

"It must be the rain," she murmured, as she rolled towards the window. They'd cracked it open in the night to let in a bit of breeze, so the sound and the scent of the rain outside were immediate and visceral. So different from the climate of the long months of their travels, the heat and relentless sunshine, the way sometimes the air itself burned its way into her lungs. Even when they'd finally ventured northward again, there'd been little rain; it had been a dry summer on the Continent, nothing like what she was accustomed to, though as Damerel had pointed out, living in England had accustomed her to more rain than anyone who lived anywhere else had a right to expect.

Her first real storm in months, and she wasn't going to miss it by lazing the day away in bed. She threw the covers back and sat up, and rolled her eyes at the tortured groan that issued from the depths of the pile of bedding at her side. 

"Damerel," she said, and her voice caught involuntarily on a laugh, from the sheer thrill of it, and for the pleasure in teasing him that seemed never to diminish. "It's raining, do you hear?"

"Yes, love, now that you've mentioned it, I do." A long arm emerged from the twisted fabric, fumbled and caught at something on the table at the side of the bed, and disappeared again. "Venetia, do you have any idea what time it is?" The pocket-watch, then.

"None," she admitted. "It's light out, though. That makes it time to wake up."

"No. No, no. Short of fire or other calamity, there is not the slightest reason to get out of bed at…" there was a pause, and his voice returned with an almost pleading note to it, "half past five."

"No!" she marveled. "Is it truly as early as that? I shall never get used to the way the world changes as we move in it. Hotter, colder, drier, wetter, sunrise later, sunrise earlier. Do you remember in Egypt--"

"I neither remember nor desire to, at this time of morning," he replied, sounding crosser by the second. Poor Damerel: he'd been drinking little, on their travels, but drinking or sober, he'd never be a morning person. With some sympathy, she relinquished the idea of a comfortable morning chat, but some part of her refused to give up completely.

"Oh, Damerel, my _dearest_ friend, don't you think a walk in the rain is a grand idea? We could huddle together under an umbrella, and be back at the hotel in time for breakfast."

"My dear delight, I hope you won't take it ill in me when I say that I can think of few things I'd like less," he said, and his face appeared at last, one impossibly expressive eyebrow raised in such displeasure at her effrontery that she nearly laughed again.

"You know," she said, thoughtfully, after a moment, "Lady Denny sat me down and had a talk with me before the wedding."

Damerel's other eyebrow raised as well. "Did she, my love? You surprise me; I'd have thought Lady Denny might do anything to avoid indelicate or improper conversation."

"Oh, no! You wrong her, Damerel, truly. We did have that conversation, because Lady Denny is nothing if not aware of her duty. But--"

"And you were her duty?"

"Yes, for she saw that there was no one else to answer any questions I might have." A gasp of laughter escaped her. "Of course, Mrs. Scorrier might have--"

"Indeed," he said, a smile on his own face now. "I am quite certain that any talk from her about the intricacies of private marital life would have ended in your canceling the wedding altogether."

"No, how can you say so? The wedding might have had to be canceled anyway, after I stabbed her with an embroidery scissors, but I cannot imagine she'd have had anything particularly terrifying to say on the subject."

"No? I can."

"Well, perhaps so, then. You're infinitely more experienced in these matters than I. But if we're talking of experience, I could also always have asked my mother to set me straight on any concerns I might have had."

Damerel's face cracked, finally, into something resembling a smile. "And that would not have been terrifying for you, either, my stouthearted girl?" He set the pocket-watch back on the table, and grasped her hip.

She waved a hand. "Stuff! You forget that I was country-bred, Damerel. That part of married life seemed straightforward to me, and so Lady Denny confirmed. Not exciting, not particularly pleasurable for a lady, but necessary. The way she described it, I thought she must consider it a regular, and regrettable, but minor nuisance. Like a linen-closet inventory."

His grip tightened, and his arm shook with amusement. He was really awake at last. Excellent. She leaned toward him, parts of her swaying in ways that never failed to draw his appreciative eye.

"I trust that you have _not_ found it too onerous a domestic task, love. I have striven to make it at least as pleasurable as, say, tea with Aubrey at Appersett's."

"And you certainly have! Why, I would almost rather stay abed with you of a morning than…" she searched for an activity humbling enough for her purposes, though in truth, in truth, his tightening fingers on her hip made the skin behind her ears tighten and her fingertips ache with the need to touch.

"Take a walk in the rain?" he suggested, drawing her slowly closer, still touching her only at that one point.

"Oh," she said, pushing his hand away from her altogether. "Well, but that brings me back to my original point!"

"Does it, minx?" He turned on his back, resigned, his arms behind his head. "You'll have to refresh my memory, then. What was your original point?"

"I never made it," she replied. "You distracted me with talk of Lady Denny and marital relations."

"As who would not be distracted by such a topic?"

"Exactly so, my love. When what I was _going_ to say was that the discussion I had with Lady Denny, the one I was talking about, I mean, was all about _compromise_ in marriage."

"Yes?"

"Yes," she said comfortably. "She told me that you and I were both far too used to ordering our lives and our surroundings to find life with a partner easy to bear, in the beginning, and the thing that I needed to remember first--"

"Aside from the manifold pleasures to be found in linen-closet inventories--"

"Aside from that," she agreed. "The thing that I needed to remember first was that a good, satisfactory compromise was something to be pursued and, once achieved, treasured. That I must never let you have things all your own way--"

"A pity, to be sure," he murmured dulcetly.

"--and I must also expect not to have things all my own way, either. That there is 'splendid beauty in compromise,' I believe I have that quote exactly." She sat back, triumphantly, and again, his eyes followed her moving parts in a most particular way.

"I should hope you do!" He paused. "That is good advice, Venetia, but I must admit that I am still not arrived at your ultimate point."

"My ultimate point, dear friend, is this: it is my suggestion, on this rainy, slightly chilly morning, that we negotiate some sort of compromise. I am awake, and mean not to go back to sleep. You wish to stay in bed at least until breakfast-time, am I not correct?"

"You are," he said, and his hand crept back in her direction, slid insinuatingly over her upper thigh. "I do begin to see what you mean, now."

"One of my favorite things about you, Damerel, is that you so often do so, and so quickly, too! Or at least, I might have wished you to get there more quickly this _one_ time, but--" she gasped as his hand arrived, inexorably, at its destination -- "now that you're here, I say we get on with this compromising business as quickly as possible."

"A compromise in every conceivable way: your wish is my command, my dear delight."

"That is not, strictly speaking, a compromising sort of sentiment, but this is everything I _could_ wish, Damerel, truly," she said with a shiver, as his hand moved against her.

And later -- after, but still before breakfast -- he said, his length pressed against hers and his head pillowed on her breast, "Correct me if I'm wrong, Venetia, but is this not what you intended all along? Was this talk of a walk in the rain not just a game of smoke and mirrors?"

His lips were moving against her, his breath warm against her, and she smiled in pleasure and stroked his head approvingly. "Well, not really, not from the _first_ , but from fairly early on."

He laughed, and she liked his laughter against her skin even better than his talk. Her hand tightened in his hair. "Venetia. Why bother with all the roundaboutation, when I'm yours for the asking?"

"My way's more fun."

"Is it, now?" He rolled, turning her completely under him. "I'll show you _more fun_ , my love."

And for all that they woke at such an exceedingly early hour, they were late to breakfast, in the end.

:::

The rain finally stopped around lunchtime, and it proved a fine enough afternoon to dress properly, though Damerel did show a tendency to linger over the lacing of her stays, and venture outside. 

Poking in the tiny shops in Strasbourg's narrow, colorful side streets was a thing Venetia would ordinarily have loved to do; the shopkeepers were charmingly eager to assist, the cobbled walks and streets rough under the thin soles of her boots, the people and sights exciting and unfamiliar in now-familiar ways. And yet she remained distracted and introspective, until Damerel, who was unpredictable in almost any way she could care to name yet was nevertheless most predictably sensitive to her moods, finally asked her what was wrong.

"I don't know that anything is _wrong_ , exactly," she said, weighing her words carefully. "Did I remember to tell you about my dream?"

"No, I don't believe you did."

"Indeed, it was a busy morning," she said, eyeing him sidelong. "I am not surprised it slipped my mind."

"Well, here it is back again, and you can tell me now," he said soothingly. "Did you have a nightmare?"

"Oh, no. A most pleasant dream, in fact. I dreamed of walking at Undershaw with Flurry. There was a summertime downpour, and we got caught in it."

"Walking in the rain again?" His face was amused, in that narrow-eyed, unsmiling way of his. "I see this is a regular fetish with you, my love. I shall have to be careful; you see, being soaked and shivering in the rain is not a peculiar fetish of _mine_."

"I wouldn't expect you to come along, Damerel, if you didn't like to! You see how easily I allowed myself to be persuaded this morning to other plans."

"You are indeed an admirably persuadable and adaptable woman." They walked on a little in silence, and he ventured, "Are you homesick, then, love?" 

"Nooo. That is to say, I do miss Yorkshire, I admit it. I miss Aubrey, and Lady Denny, and discussing with Imber how best to keep you from slipping back into your old habits--"

"No, really, do you do that?" He shook his head, diverted. "If I had known, I would have told you long ago to stop worrying. I've no desire to persist in my erstwhile debaucheries, love. You've wiped any desire but the desire for you, for your good opinion, from my brain."

She squeezed his arm where her hands were hooked at his elbow. "Oh, _I_ know that, though perhaps that will change over time, as we grow old and complacent--"

"Never, my dear."

She shook her head at him. "It's kind of you to say so, my friend. As I was saying, though--goodness, how easily we do distract each other!--"

"Which, love, is why I can't imagine becoming bored and complacent--"

"You will not distract me again! Not at this moment, anyway. _As_ I was saying, I know that perfectly well, but Imber doesn't. He's grown so accustomed to looking after you that he's not quite learned yet to leave off. I trust that eventually he will, as long as you continue to be a good boy."

"'Good boy!' Revolting woman, I just felt the first stirrings of disaffection. No doubt I'll have left you by nightfall."

"No doubt you will have." They smiled at each other, big, silly honeymoon sorts of smiles.

"So you're missing Yorkshire, but you're not exactly homesick. What does that mean, my dear delight? Would you like to go home?"

"Perhaps I would. I never thought I would, but somehow, knowing I can leave again whenever I want -- and I _can_ leave whenever I want, can't I, Damerel?"

"Most assuredly, love. Wherever you want to go. I'll even go with you, if I'm feeling generous."

"I'm glad to hear it. Knowing that I can leave, knowing that I'm not trapped there, will ye, nill ye, for the rest of my life, it makes Yorkshire and everyone in it seem dearer, and much less oppressive. I do miss it, almost all of it."

"Yes, I daresay. But why is this not homesickness, love? If it isn't, I confess that don't see the difference."

"It's because it's not home."

"Not?"

"No. I've discovered, over the last eight months, that home for me isn't a _place_ , it's a person."

Damerel stopped suddenly on the walk, unintentionally yanking Venetia back as if on a lead, and causing the gentleman walking behind them to run ignominiously into his back. After the apologies and hat-tippings and the continuings-on, Venetia began to link her arm through his again, and he stopped her, instead gripping her hand, so tightly it made her eyes water.

"Venetia, you unman me," he said. "Do you mean that?"

She felt a good deal of surprise at his words. "Why, Damerel, do you doubt it? I want you never to doubt it."

"I suppose I don't. I suppose it's not so much doubt as an inability to trust in my continuing good fortune." They walked on, more slowly than before, the people of Strasbourg surging around them like waves. 

"Well, I must make you learn to trust in it, Damerel. And I must make Imber learn to trust in your good intentions--"

"Oh, yes, good luck with _that_ endeavour," he said, drily.

"I shall do it, never you fear! Persuadable though I undoubtedly am, I can also be quite persuasive, when I need to be."

"I have ample evidence of that, and there, at least, utter conviction that you will persuade us all, in the friendliest, most good-humored way possible, to be happy."

"Precisely," she said, with her most mischievous smile.

"And, granted that we are home even now, walking down this foreign street, listening to languages only one of us can speak well--"

"How unkind," she said, tightening her hand around his. "I'm learning, you know. We've only been three days in Germany!"

"I do know. Granted that we are home now, should you like to go back to the Priory? Or continue on? Rome, perhaps?"

"Not Rome! Aubrey would never forgive us if went to Rome or Athens without him. I believe I should like to go back to the Priory. Do you mind terribly, Damerel?"

"What a ridiculous question," he said tenderly. "If we go back right now, we can make plans and have dinner and be ready to leave in the morning."

And so they walked on. Venetia thought that no one looking at the two of them twined together would ever have guessed that they were once nearly as lonely as it was possible for people to be, and rather than making her melancholy, the thought spurred her on, quickening her steps, drawing her back to the inn and to the rest of her life, which, given any of Damerel's good fortune at all, would never be lonely again.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is [Bow](http://archiveofourown.org/users/bow)'s doing, really, and so it's dedicated to her. Her one request, when we were discussing it, was that there be a happy ending, and for her sake, and because it makes me happy to think of Venetia and Damerel happy, I've obliged.


End file.
